Ekaterina V. (LII) — Logic and Emotional Minefields

The Analytical Mind and Emotional Barriers

My mind is constantly running, though I usually don't notice it. When a problem arises that is serious to me, my brain is in a perpetual search for a solution and a logical explanation. I also need to form my stance toward the issue, classifying and systematizing it. This is typically an internal process that doesn't manifest externally through actions right away; the actions come later, almost on their own, once the solution has fully matured.

This process runs smoothly and almost imperceptibly as long as relationships and emotions aren't involved. When they are, processing information becomes incredibly difficult. I get plagued by doubts and pangs of conscience. In short, whenever emotions get mixed in, I feel the need to subordinate them to logic—everything must be subordinated to logic. I have to explain things to myself and find a cause-and-effect relationship. I can't quite manage this with emotions and feelings; I feel like there's something I just don't understand. Yet, my mind never stops trying to solve the problem, causing the process to loop and drag out. It is highly draining. I want to shut my head off, I get sick of it, but there is no off-switch.

Eventually, over time, things seem to quiet down, provided the problem isn't vital or terrifying due to the weight of responsibility toward myself and others. Otherwise, it becomes very heavy, and I try to adopt a wait-and-see attitude, waiting for resolving events to occur. Only then do relief and the ability to switch focus arrive.

Perception, Flaws, and Multi-Tasking Thoughts

Always and in everything that interests me or is around me, I track facts, events, people's reactions, and actions. I "process" them, and only then does my opinion "surface."

I can spot flaws and imperfections in everything. However, I am ready to adapt to many things, accept them, and treat them with indulgence (perhaps, admittedly, just temporarily). I understand very well that nothing is perfect or ideal.

I can hold several lines of thought in my head at the same time, switching from one to another, while each continues to run without interruption.

It is very difficult for me to completely condemn a person. I will always find an explanation for their actions and accept them, but this happens only in my head—managing my feelings is sometimes very difficult for me, almost impossible.

In general, everything that worries me feels like a mass that I want to break down into simple components in order to understand it, gain specific experience, and identify the circumstances that trigger a particular phenomenon. This is so that I can have the ability to predict and possess a clear understanding of patterns. I seem to manage this well with "inanimate" space. I have somehow figured out external emotions and expressions of feelings, but when it comes to human relationships, I can't. It feels like walking through a minefield, and the older I get, the scarier it becomes.

Childhood and Family Dynamics

During my childhood, I often had conflicts at home. I would scream and raise my voice at my elders when they tried to teach me something, because it felt as though they were looking down on me and humiliating me. I would start throwing tantrums, screaming, and asserting that I knew everything myself and that I was smart. They would try to "put me in my place," which only made me scream louder.

While I could somewhat accept my grandmother and father (who were logicians) and considered them smart, my relationship with my mother was unbearable. I thought I was smarter than her. I constantly felt that my thinking was "broader," almost limitless, and I always had multiple options for any given issue. She, at best, would see only one aspect—and not always the correct one, as the facts didn’t add up in my opinion. She would fixate on it and couldn't reason soundly past that point, which triggered emotions like tears and resentment. She would then start calling me a fool and punishing me.

Learning Style and the Impact of Authority

My perception of new information is slow; it’s as if I don’t grasp it immediately. I need to read the material several times and do various practical exercises. Then, after studying it for some time, I know the material inside out—thoroughly and deeply. After that, I work with it very freely, confidently, and productively. This brings me satisfaction and makes me feel great.

Who teaches me matters immensely—the teacher must believe in me and consider me smart. When they do, everything runs smoothly. If they don't believe in me, criticize me over trivial matters, point out my inability, or talk about how much I still haven't done or don't know, I fall into the persona of a "fool" and truly become incapable of doing anything. Later, under favorable circumstances, I can slip out of it without even realizing it.

When I started working at a university, teaching courses for eleventh graders, I solved complex problems without much advance preparation. I noticed that if I mentally tuned myself in beforehand to the idea that I know and can do it, I could solve even the hardest problems. Everything depends on mindset: if people accept me as smart and capable and let me believe it, I become that way and deliver the corresponding result. With the opposite attitude, the result is the opposite.

Teachers and elders were always authorities to me. I believed they knew better how and what to do. When I went to work as a teacher at a school, it was impossible for me to imagine myself on the same level as the teachers who had already been working there for a while. I found common ground with them and we communicated, but I felt constrained around them. With two of them, the interaction was closer, and they were about ten years older than me. Yet, when they asked me to address them informally, I couldn't do it; I couldn't bring myself to overcome that barrier. At that point, it began to feel like I couldn't solve problems for upper-grade classes and that I understood absolutely nothing.

Introspection, Manifesting Desires, and Flow

If I need to obtain, achieve, or find something, it is easier to somehow concentrate internally, look inside myself, analyze reality there, feel out the possibilities of each desire, and listen to the future perspective. It is easier to act with my eyes closed, so to speak, rather than through the surrounding real space—if I look around, something gets disrupted sometimes, as the external world interferes.

Sometimes a desire has to be "shelved" because it is hard to concentrate for a very long time, and laziness plays a part too. Then, after some time, you think about it, look back, and it turns out that the desire was fulfilled unnoticed. But while that desire was manifesting, I was occupied with more serious and important problems. My priorities had already shifted, so the fulfillment of the desire was taken as a matter of course—very necessary, undoubtedly, but my maximum concentration had already moved on to another desire.

I feel that when I want something too intensely and nothing else around exists, I won't get it right then; "happiness won't just fall into my lap." I need to let go, redistribute my energy, and switch to other problems. If I have a desire but no opportunities, I just keep living my life without driving myself like a workhorse. As soon as an event occurs that favors the fulfillment of my desire, I realize the process is underway. I calm down, knowing it will reach the desired result on its own. I don't rush; if something stalls, I can push the process forward myself or through someone else.

The main thing is to nudge the "machine" in the right direction and, probably, at the right speed, and it will roll to where it needs to be right on time. In the process of "figuring out which way to push," the key is to believe in yourself—to believe that a real opportunity exists to get what you envisioned, and not to panic while the first results aren't visible, or before the process begins to manifest in real life. Apparently, I focus and create all my desires and intentions within myself first, and then look for them in reality. It seems I don't yet know how to violently rejoice over what I get, because by the time I receive it, other important matters are on the agenda.

Job Hunting, Logic, and the Need for Variety

Interestingly, looking for a job "head-on," for example, is difficult—almost impossible for me. I wait; it has to come from somewhere on its own, as if someone "of my own" should give it or bring it to me. When, I don't know. Deep down, there is always a feeling that nothing bad can happen to me.

The solution to a problem must always be optimal. I am like the "Hedgehog in the Fog": it's better to stand still than to walk the wrong way. But there is a feeling that, despite everything, I am still moving in the right direction, albeit very slowly.

When I am in my normal state (not overwhelmed by emotions), I can reason on various topics, but I almost always doubt myself. I cannot definitively and categorically speak about consequences or the potential development of an action. I always have many options. I can think very broadly, limitlessly.

I get very tired of walking the exact same road; it bores me, so I try to change the route. When I went to a badminton club, for a while I constantly had the same playing partner. At first, everything was fine and interesting: sometimes he would win against me, sometimes I would win against him. Later on, I could no longer play with him because it became unbearable that it was always the exact same partner.

Perfectionism, Order, and the Need for Harmony

The things I sew must absolutely be useful. The work is quite meticulous, and I put maximum effort into it; people say it turns out quite well. However, I always see flaws and want to perfect what I have made. There must be a sense of completion in everything, including the completeness of an image—something one can work on endlessly and never feel entirely satisfied with.

In my childhood, when walking down the street—especially in spring when the snow was melting—I constantly noticed remnants of ice and thought they needed to be cleared away. I would note exactly where to clean so that everything would be spotless. At my grandmother's house, I was constantly annoyed by things lying out of place or furniture that, in my opinion, was positioned incorrectly. Everything absolutely had to be tidied up and put in its place. I would walk around constantly thinking that the refrigerator should definitely be in the kitchen, not in the room, and that clothes should hang in the closet rather than on chairs. Everything had to be finished and harmonious. It would also be great if no one disrupted this order, because I didn't particularly want to do the actual cleaning myself. Imagining how things should look is not difficult in principle, but I don't always have enough energy left to actually execute it.

When I was little, my parents often bought paintings and hung them on the walls. I always wanted them to hang parallel to each other. My father explained to me that they aren't hung that way, but I still felt that my way looked more beautiful.

Nostalgia and the Weight of the Past

I really dislike deleting old text messages sent to me by various people from my phone. I don't read them or use them, but they contain a little piece of the past. When you start reading them, you find yourself back in that time; memories resurface of what I was doing back then, how I lived, who that person was, and what my relationship with them was like. Deleting a message feels like losing something—what if it's important, or what if it might be useful someday?

It is exactly the same with clothing receipts and various items. When the warranty period expires, before throwing a receipt away, I will read the date and remember how I lived during that specific month and year—and perhaps even that exact day—what I was doing, what I was feeling, and under what circumstances and where I bought that item.

I am highly aware of how and why my mood changes. For example, I might be walking down the street in a certain mood, thinking about something, when suddenly I notice the sun illuminating the houses in a specific way. Immediately, a past situation flashes back with all the emotions and sensations I experienced then (that state is reproduced very vividly) when the sun shone exactly the same way, and my current mood shifts into the past one. Usually, these are negative experiences.

Emotional Overload and the Wish for Logic

It is always this way with me: when you see a lot of good qualities in a person and you like them, you are constantly afraid of losing them. Yet, even when you become disillusioned with them, you are still deeply afraid of being left alone, even if the relationship has become almost unbearable. Consequently, there is never any time to enjoy life.

I often wish I could be a completely emotionless, self-sufficient, independent machine. I get deeply exhausted by emotions that lack logic. In relationships, I understand nothing; there is only accumulated experience, which is mostly negative. I always want to negotiate everything with a person, to discuss all the rules and nuances so that everything is thought out in advance, logical, and stable—so that the relationship lasts forever without disruptions, develops naturally and positively, and never ends. But life doesn't work that way; you have to take emotions and feelings into account, and dealing with that is incredibly difficult for me. I have absolutely no flexibility; everything is handled through rigid "templates."

The Fear of Loneliness and Control in Relationships

People represent the highest value to me—or rather, my relationships with them. I like it when many people interact with me amiably. I feel good when I am surrounded by many friends, even though I get exhausted from prolonged socialization.

There are moments when I want to be alone, but that is only comfortable when I am certain that all my friends are close by, that my relationships with them are good, and that they haven't abandoned or left me. It feels as though the situation is under control: if I reach out to them, they will respond and help me, meaning they won't reject or abandon me. However, certainty here is very often replaced by uncertainty. Sometimes there seem to be no real reasons for it, yet my confidence slips away, and absurd ideas and fears creep into my mind. I take conflicts very hard; it is easier for me to give in somewhere just to keep the relationship good (at least in my view). Loneliness is very terrifying.

It is nearly the same with men. I want to find that one and only person with whom it is comfortable, calm, and stable—someone I respect, value, and whom I can trust and believe in. I want to share the same interests with him, supporting each other without betrayal or reproaches, while caring for one another. This forms a complete picture that I don't look to idealize; everyone has flaws, but they shouldn't deeply hurt, irritate, or destroy the partner.

Desired Relationship Dynamics and Reality

The person next to me matters immensely. I want them to be a cheerful, calm, positive, and self-confident person without any "baggage"—someone who won't argue with me over "who is smarter," and who has a lot of "life" and optimism in them. I have always wanted a family where the husband holds a certain status, where the relationship is smooth and stable, where we share mutual respect, and where no one drains my nerves. It is vital to have someone by my side who is, first and foremost, a friend who loves me, understands me, accepts me, doesn't betray me, and values the family as much as I do.

In turn, I am ready to adapt to a lot of things and handle household chores (although I sometimes feel sorry about wasting my time and energy on them). Under those conditions, I am capable of living normally, caring for others, thinking positively, and socializing well.

I did start a family, and it meant a great deal to me. My husband did not behave in the best way, but I endured it, tried to adapt, tried to understand him, and tried to save the marriage, but in the end, nothing worked out. It was terrifying to lose all of it, but deep down, there was a sense of relief. I have a child, but I cannot find peace and accept that my family consists of just the two of us; I need a third person.

Mind Games and the Thrill of the Chase

I wanted to find my other half back in school, but it didn't really pan out. I always wanted a large, friendly company where things were fun. In my final year of school, the situation changed: boys started chasing me, sometimes even tracking and waiting around for me. I was afraid of some of them and couldn't tolerate clinginess, but I really enjoyed deceiving them and not showing up where they were waiting for me—approaching my house from a different side or escaping entirely through alleyways and building entrances.

For a time, I enjoyed studying all the exits and entrances of various buildings and courtyards in the area near my house. Facing unwanted people "head-on" is terrifying to me; it is easier for me to deceive them, just so I don't get caught. In childhood, I loved playing "partisans," tracking, watching out, gathering information (including from dialogues), making deductions, and forecasting. The main thing was not to get caught. The more dangerous and scary it was, the more interesting it apparently became, providing a wider field of activity (within reasonable limits, of course, like in a game where there is no real danger).

I want someone to play with me—to match wits and intuition against each other—but there aren't many takers. However, this applies only to men I more or less like, those to whom it wouldn't feel insulting to lose if it came to that. I perceive all of this as a light, fun joke that shouldn't cause offense or be taken seriously. I don't want to hurt anyone or gain an advantage; I just want to play. Moreover, I am drawn to a dynamic game without "silences." I cannot stand silence; during those moments, it feels like I've been abandoned, that they no longer want to play, and that I am not needed. I have a poor grasp of how to make someone keep playing, and when that happens, I stop believing in myself altogether and sink into depression.

University Years and the Cycle of Validation

At graduation night, all the "right" and even "wrong" boys danced with me. I felt good. Then came university; I was too lazy and busy to study, as I wanted to go out and socialize. On the very first day in my student group, I looked around and found an object of attraction. I smiled at him a couple of times and looked at him intently.

A couple of weeks later, another classmate approached me with an invitation to go for a walk. I didn't refuse, even though I didn't really like him. We started dating, and I convinced myself that he was more or less a good fit for me. Meanwhile, the one I had actually noticed became friends with him, and sometimes the three of us walked together. A month later, he came to see me, and we started dating. The other guy remained in the dark, then found out from somewhere and confronted me. I "played dumb," invented some excuses, and got incredibly scared.

While dating him, I deeply wanted it to last for life. My feelings for him were strong; I was afraid of losing him and wanted to be faithful to him. He behaved very strangely, especially in public—aloof and dismissive. The "closer" I tried to get to him and the more compliant I became, the further away he drifted and the less frequently he visited. I felt that he was losing interest in me (all of this was almost subconscious). It was very hard on me. I didn't want to see anyone but him, but my girlfriends would drag me out to discos and walks, and I began to entertain new suitors. At that point, he would reappear, and I would sit at home again, completely charmed by him. And then the whole thing would repeat in a circle.

Internally, I realized that to keep him interested, I had to constantly keep options spinning. I did this, but it didn't always work out: sometimes my conscience tormented me, and sometimes it was just scary—what if he came over and I wasn't home, he'd get offended, leave, and I'd never see him again? And I wanted to see him so much; I needed him so badly.

I formed the impression that I hold power, am attractive, and can maintain a relationship only when I have many admirers. That way, I am not afraid of being abandoned, because there is someone else, and I don't cling completely to just one person. In this scenario, I manage to stay afloat; otherwise, I fail. I managed to handle this task, but it came at the expense of my studies and harmonious relationships.

Coping Mechanisms and Moving Forward

I constantly needed to be surrounded by many men who liked me. I believed that I was incapable of anything else, and that there was generally nothing else to me besides this.

It should be noted that I always longed for that one and only person to whom I could "give my soul." I developed the opinion that to be loved, needed, and respected, you have to be tough and aloof by maintaining a crowd of admirers (preferably wealthy ones) and keeping the object of your love at a distance. If they betray you, abandon you, or hurt you, it won't matter if you are emotionally far away.

Being in this role is very difficult, and most importantly, it is very hard to fulfill yourself—there is simply no time or headspace for it. But I cannot just drop things or be the first to leave; I have to adapt, smooth over the relationship if possible, and endure. I "trembled" over relationships constantly: wondering if I said everything right, if I looked the right way, or if I caused offense. Luckily, I was the one who got dumped. I took it very hard at first, but after a while, I realized how good it was. The world opened up, and it turned out there are far more interesting and good people out there, and I have no desire to go back.

He is still somewhere nearby to this day.

Juggling Partners and the Adrenaline of Strategic Timing

Later on, a more reliable suitor appeared, though I didn't like him quite as much. At first, out of sheer inertia, I kept running off on dates with others, going to discos, and hanging out with my girlfriends. I lacked the confidence that you could be with just one person and remain safe (from the standpoint of loneliness). Besides, I was highly drawn to fun, social gatherings, and strong, dynamic personalities. In short, I frequently blew him off; he knew it, yet he endured it all. My conscience tormented me and I felt terribly sorry for him. I considered him a very good person and myself a bad one, but I just couldn't help myself. I was constantly asking for his forgiveness. Eventually, I began to trust him, stopped going out, and our relationship became normal, serious, and stable. Gradually, I stopped interacting with my girlfriends, and my life became entirely confined to him and my work.

Then, the relationship began to deteriorate. He started growing distant, which terrified me. Feeling the threat of losing him, certain aspects of his behavior began to scare me deeply—we saw each other less frequently, and he would vanish somewhere, using work as an excuse. Other girls started calling him. I came to the conclusion that we needed to get married. He didn't want to, so I came up with an argument that forced his hand. I issued an ultimatum. It was a six-month battle—not an overt one, but a situation that required me to "squeeze" it to a finish.

Fortunately, during this time, I accidentally met a man with whom I started a rather passionate affair. I would switch my focus from one to the other. I never got caught, though both probably felt a certain distance and mystery about me, which actually attracted them. It made it much easier for me to "hold" the relationship with my fiancé—to keep my balance, so to speak, without falling, and to push him toward the wedding. I felt more self-confident. Both gave me gifts and confessed their love. My conscience no longer bothered me; I knew that none of the three of us were being honest, and that to some degree, we were all deceiving one another.

There was one particular incident. I was at home, and my fiancé was preparing to leave on a business trip. He told me he was about to stop by my place. While I was waiting for him, the other man called and said he was pulling up to my building and would ring me to come outside. I couldn't bring myself to refuse him. I got incredibly scared because I didn't know what to do.

Within a minute, I realized that the key was for the lover to call me before my fiancé entered the apartment, so I could tell him I was coming down calmly and without witnesses. They didn't know each other anyway and would easily pass each other in the courtyard. And that is exactly how it played out. My fiancé came inside, while the other waited in the yard. I made tea and asked him to watch TV for five minutes while I helped my parents take some trash down to the courtyard (they were actually cleaning out a closet on the stairwell, and he saw this). He agreed and suspected nothing. I went out into the yard, stood with my lover right in the middle of it, told him I was short on time because I had to help my parents, and then we drove off to handle a piece of his business for about 15 minutes. We returned to the yard, agreed to meet tomorrow, and I went back inside. My fiancé was calmly drinking tea and watching TV; he hadn't suspected a thing.

I saw him off on his business trip, knowing that tomorrow I wouldn't be alone and that everything would be fine. I felt an immense sense of satisfaction, joy, and happiness—what a clever girl I was. I absolutely love combining events in time, matching them down to the exact second, where the slightest delay would cause me to get caught. I get so much adrenaline from this danger. I instinctively know when to hide and when I can meet someone else right in the middle of the courtyard, right under the nose of my future husband. After a successfully executed operation, I feel a sense of ecstasy and personal power.

The Aftermath of the Affair and a Philosophy on Lying

Right before the wedding, I had very little free time. I was hardly ever home, and my lover could not reach me by phone. At that time, I didn't really care, since the wedding was just around the corner, leaving no room for doubt, and I didn't need his support. On the eve of the wedding, he finally got through to me and drove over. We talked in his car right in the middle of my courtyard, risking that my fiancé might arrive and see me. He gifted me a cell phone, saying, "I want to be able to reach you always." But I wasn't afraid; I felt a sense of my own significance. For some time after the wedding, we continued to meet; he didn't know I had gotten married and believed I was a highly principled person.

Later, by pure chance, when I was pregnant, we crossed paths on the street. He looked terrified. He must have thought the child was his and that I was simply refusing to admit it to protect him. He even sent his friends to get me to confess, but I explained to them that I had a husband and that it was his child. They didn't believe me and claimed I was making it all up; they couldn't comprehend where a husband had suddenly come from. A couple of times, my ex-lover interrogated my girlfriend, still unable to grasp how it had all happened. I finally told him the truth when we ran into each other after my divorce. I didn't have to tell him, but I felt the need to bring clarity to everything and explain it all, even though I was no longer interested in him. Things must be honest.

I dislike lying because it distorts facts and reality, and on top of that, you have to remember what you lied about and to whom. Yet, when dealing with men, you have to lie. If a man means nothing to me, I don't exert myself too much. But I still lie in such a way that no one can pick it apart—I align the facts, and days later, I continue the lie in the exact same vein without any contradictions. Everything must be logical and consistent.

Intellectual Compatibility and Assessing Others

In some people, I see a real depth of thought. I find them interesting, but only as long as they don't try to compete with me in that arena. In others, after some interaction, I see a limited mindset. If a person internally accepts this about themselves, I can communicate with them calmly on their level, though without forgetting their limitations, of course. However, if a person has a limited mindset but pretends to be intelligent, desperately trying to project superiority, it irritates me. I won't be able to interact with them without conflict.

Then, there is a type of person where I simply cannot tell whether they are smart or not. In their presence, I don't seem to have the time—or even the desire—to think about evaluating them. Something else is at play there, some other category that is incomprehensible to me. Often, it is just comfortable to be around them, and I don't feel the need to turn my head on. Granted, if we were to socialize for a longer period, I would probably "dig something up."

Physical Fitness, Sports, and Mental Well-being

I have been involved in sports since childhood. Of course, I didn't achieve extraordinary results, but reaching CMS (Candidate for Master of Sports) was quite enough for me. I have always tried to stay active. Even when I quit competitive sports, I did shaping classes both in groups and at home by myself, and I went to the gym.

Recently, due to a lack of free time, I had a six-month break from training. The result speaks for itself: an increase in depression, a decline in health, and a feeling that I "don't feel myself"—I don't feel life. It is very important for me to be aware that I am in excellent shape and that I can endure physical workloads that others cannot handle. Without this, the system collapses, and it is very difficult to restore. I have recently started practicing yoga; it is undoubtedly a powerful and necessary practice, but it requires getting used to; you have to ease into it. I am not entirely sure it can replace the dynamics of shaping for me. I will probably have to try and combine the two.

Fashion, Aesthetics, and First Impressions

Clothes mean a great deal to me. In my childhood, I didn't have the opportunity to own what I wanted. Now, however, I have a vast wardrobe. I try to buy high-quality, branded, beautiful, and moderately bright, eye-catching items.

When I dress up, everything must match and harmonize in terms of color and style—down to the smallest detail. This requires a certain amount of time and the right mood. The more clothes you have, the harder it is to get dressed due to the dilemma of choice. Yet, I feel a constant need to buy new things and match them with one another. Going shopping always boosts my mood. I evaluate what people are wearing; I judge them by their clothes. I instantly see whether someone has taste or not, and whether they are fashionable or not.

Source: How to Raise a Child Without Complexes by O. Mikhevnina